The Scent of Home
by tailor31415
Summary: Stiles thought cleaning the house would be appreciated. He never realized the musky scent might be, you know, on purpose. *Season 2 Spoilers*


*Season 2 Spoilers*

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and its characters/plot are in no way mine.

A/N: I am apparently unable to write fluff without significant backstory, so here's something that starts out moderately serious, is then extremely cracky, and ends as just fluff. Enjoy!

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Derek huffed out a breath as he climbed the slope leading to his house – the Camaro was in the shop after an over-zealous training session involving Scott, Jackson, and a juvenile argument. He hadn't wanted to spend the morning walking over to the nearest city and visiting the Hale family lawyer, but the man had sent him an email declaring there was an urgent situation he had to address as soon as possible.

Turns out, the man had, through the use of what he called 'superior sleuthing skills' (though he later admitted truly meant remembering the Hales had always been rather obsessive about the Beacon Hills house and so he drove to the town and past the driveway every few months hoping for a sign of life – fresh tire tracks – at the house again), finally tracked Derek down to Beacon Hills. The lawyer, a Mr. Timothy Carter, had been looking for him since he received word of Laura's death.

There was a proviso in every Hale will for the eldest living resident of the Beacon Hills house to be named heir of the estate ("You are the…uh…eldest living resident, are you not? Because, I've also learned that your uncle has mysteriously left the care of the hospital, so is he living there or just you or…ah, I see my question has somehow angered you. I'll just, yes, uh, please stop growling at me?") and, so, not only did Derek become Laura's heir, but also that of all the Hale relatives who had perished in the fire ("Again, I am so grievously sorry for your loss. Your parents were like friends to me, and your sister was such a wonderful young woman.")

Derek had spent the better part of the day learning all about investment portfolios and property taxes ("Yes, so the land was not seized because your parents were rather smart and set up this whole system to simply run itself, well I as Executor of the estate was running it, you see, and keep the deed in the Hale family name. Ah, er, teeth again, I remember your mother doing that occasionally…perhaps a five minute break?"), and, though it was wonderful to be assured his childhood home was legally and completely his, he was relieved to finally be returning home. His previous plans for the day had been to finish up the second floor bathroom, one of the only rooms left to renovate (if Peter had been helping, the whole project would have been finished weeks ago, but he had whined about his 'physical weakness' and sat in the corner examining his nail beds; and, of course, while Isaac was many things, construction specialist he was certainly not – the railing on the second floor was sawed halfway through for no apparent reason other than the young wolf had no idea how to read a floor plan).

Perhaps he would go hunting – shooting at helpless creatures gave him nearly as much pleasure as running with the Pack at the full moon, and the cold cellar was nearly empty anyway. He was happily deciding which part of the woods, exactly, he wanted to set up in when the feeling of complete and utter wrongness swept over him.

Derek froze, head lifting to sniff at the breeze and turning slightly to pick up the surrounding noises. There were none of the usual suspicious sounds – no complete and utter silence devoid of all sound except the regrettable and apparently unavoidable snapping of twigs – so Derek focused on breathing deep and attempting to scent out the problem.

It took him several moments to realize what exactly he had noticed subconsciously. The scent of the house, meticulously scented over several full moon nights and many Pack meetings besides, was gone.

Gone, even, was the lingering scent of ash and death that always seemed to color the air.

Derek sucked in a breath and then took off sprinting towards the clearing. His mind supplied a name to the new scent that filled the air – 'Hospital!' it shouted, 'Doctors!' – and his wolf howled and raged as the image of a swarm of doctors overtaking the Pack house came to mind. The more rational side of his mind pointed out it didn't make much sense for doctors to infiltrate and clean the house, but Derek shoved that thought aside as he breached the clearing.

He peered around carefully, noticing only Stiles' Jeep sitting in front of his porch, setting off his wolf howling for his endangered pack mate. 'Experimentation!' his feral side growled out as he made his way towards the porch, sniffing deeply and finding only the overwhelming scent of hospital and of Stiles. 'They took him and they're going to kill him! Danger! Danger!' came the rest of the thought.

As he started up the stairs, he ignored the thought that came to mind that, as a human, there was no reason for mad scientists of any kind to be experimenting on Stiles. The third step, where he had taken care to ensure it creaked with pressure, was firm and quiet now as he stepped on it and Derek stiffened even more, feeling red bleed into his eyes. 'Why would they take the time to fix the warning system Derek had installed? Surely they could be using it against him,' his rational side pointed out.

Derek emitted a low growl as he bent slightly and sniffed as the stair. The staircase had been one of the only things in the house that still carried the scent of his old pack, something he had taken care not to remove even with the renovations, and now the scent was covered up by the stench of hospital.

With a rush, Derek burst through the front door and whipped his head around, trying to identify the source of Stiles' scent. He was nearly overwhelmed by the aching emptiness that came from the utter absence of Pack scent. Eyes sweeping over the corners of the entranceway and the bit of the living room he could see, he realized the tuffs of fur (meticulously collected after each full moon and finally complete with a bit from Scott as well as a new bit from Jackson) that he had placed in the corners of the room and under the furniture were missing. With careful steps, he approached the kitchen, thought floating at the back of his mind that it was odd he could smell no other living being.

Shoving the door open with a clawed hand, Derek jumped through the opening and scanned the kitchen. Stiles straightened from his place at the sink and turned his head slightly in Derek's direction, eyes fixed on the dishes he was washing. "Oh, Derek! I was wondering, you know, when you'd show up. So, I had a question; see, I was telling Scott about how wolves will, like, go hunting and swallow some food and then come back and do this gross regurgitation thing for the pups and mates and stuff and he started wondering if that would, you know, happen with him and Allison, but I said, well, it's not as if she'll have cubs, and then he started whining about how you never tell him anything because maybe you were born as a cub, or I guess, a pup? Anyway, so," he turned fully to face Derek, shaking the suds off his gloved (yellow, obnoxious, and also smelling strongly of hospital) hands, "Were you born as a wolf pup?" He suddenly blanched as his eyes ran over Derek and then swallowed, "Uh, dude, you're looking really, uh, wolfed out. You okay?"

His wolf chuffed and wanted to rush Stiles, and press his nose into Stiles' neck, and maybe bite at it too in punishment for causing such worry. Derek instead strode towards Stiles in silence, scowl set firmly in place and hands – sans claws now – swinging up to catch the younger man's shoulders. Slamming Stiles back against the counter, Derek shoved his face into the junction of neck and shoulder and breathed deep – when he sniffed deep and could still catch the faint scent of Stiles, his wolf calmed completely and the urge to bite and lick until Stiles smelled of Derek again faded

The yellow gloves skittered against his chest as Stiles fought to regain his balance and Derek moved his hand deftly to rip the gloves away. "Ouch, man, there was definitely some claw action going on there, oh, you're not done, well, uh, just let me know…ouch!" Stiles shouted when Derek shoved him back again.

Hands falling to Stiles' waist, he started to tug the other along the counter, spreading their combined scent around the room. Reaching the corner, where counter gave way to wall, he pushed Stiles into the space and crowded up against him again. "What," he growled out, "were you thinking?"

"Uh," Stiles said, voice vibrating through his chest where Derek's hand was resting. "Well, Mrs. McCall gave me some of the industrial-strength cleaning stuff the hospital uses and I figured it was the only thing that could get rid of the weird musky aroma this place carries. Which, honestly, I don't understand 'cause it should smell like fresh wood and paint and stuff, shouldn't it?"

"That," Derek started, teeth grinding slightly as he pulled his mouth away from where it had been resting on Stiles' collarbone, "was the Pack scent. Which you just removed. Completely."

Stiles swallowed again, eyes flitting around the room behind Derek's shoulder. "So, uh, how, um," he paused, hands clenching into fists at his side as he tipped his head back further away from Derek's bared fangs.

"I need to scent-mark the house again. You're going to help me." With that, Derek gripped him by the scruff of his ridiculous hoodie and started to drag him out of the kitchen, watching carefully to make sure Stiles brushed against every counter and expanse of wall.

Stiles reached over his head and gripped at Derek's wrist as he slid along. "Er, how?" he squeaked, "Because, I have noticed that when Scott wants to scent Allison, he normally, hmm, rubs all over her and stuff…"

"Right," Derek replied, finally pulling him into the living room and shoving Stiles towards the wall. "Take off your shirt."

"I'd rather not?" Stiles replied, clutching at the material over his chest as if he had any say in the matter. "In our dynamic, you're normally the shirtless one."

Pressing his hips tight against Stiles', Derek snapped, "Off." Nodding frantically, Stiles pulled off his shirt and flattened himself against the wall as Derek pressed his palms to either side of his head. He pressed his nose to Stiles' hair and breathed deep. The scent of antiseptic was fading and was being replaced by that of Derek and the bit of Scott Derek always carried as Alpha.

"Are we," Stiles started, hands coming up to rest of Derek's shoulders, "going to do this on every wall in the house?"

"Every wall you cleaned," Derek replied, calmer now, "And every piece of furniture."

He watched Stiles slide his eyes shut and breathe deeply against the wall for several moments, leaning back to eye the young man's bare chest. When his eyes flickered open again, Stiles smiled gently at Derek and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. "You were worried, weren't you?" he asked, smile transforming into a smirk.

Derek glared as best he could in his calm, content state and, in lieu of a response, pressed his head back into Stiles' shoulder. "It's okay," Stiles crooned into his ear, or at least, Derek hoped he was trying to croon, because it sounded kind of hoarse and just barely qualified as soothing. "I'll look up some holistic, environmentally-safe, homemade cleaning supply recipe things – you know, that only smell like sage or whatever." When Derek's teeth pressed against his neck, he laughed hoarsely and corrected, "Or have no scent at all. No added scent would be fine too."

He gently maneuvered Derek's head, fingers grasping his chin, to press their foreheads together. "We'll have a pack meeting tomorrow. There will be lots of roughhousing and hormone-induced violence and puppy piles and the house will smell good as new, or uh, musky as old, soon enough." Derek surged forward to mouth at Stiles' lips and Stiles kissed him back gently. "You know what? I started out cleaning in the master bedroom," he tightened his hands in Derek's hair when he attempted to rear his head back. "Maybe we should start correcting this situation up there…"

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Thanks for reading! Reviews always appreciated ;)


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